Episode 7- They Loved Me Until I Started Doing Better.

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Episode 7- They Loved Me Until I Started Doing Better.

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Thanks for reading Spirandi Ombrevôtre! This post is public so feel free to share it.They Loved Me Until I Started Doing BetterI have been thinking about a kitchen table.Not a particular one.Just a table.The sort where people sit down without arranging themselves first.Someone puts the kettle on.Someone has brought biscuits.Someone is telling a story they said they weren't going to tell.Someone else is laughing too loudly.There is usually something left on a plate.A cup nobody knows whose it is.This is where I think women have always done some of their best thinking.Not in the meeting room.Not necessarily in the places where important decisions are supposed to happen.At the table.Someone says, “Right. Let's work this out.”And everybody leans in.I have always liked making those tables.Making room.Introducing people.Listening.Connecting things.Sometimes just sitting with someone until they can hear themselves again.There is a particular pleasure in watching a person arrive at the table carrying something they have never quite said aloud.A ridiculous dream.An impossible idea.A plan they are embarrassed to admit they want.You listen.You say, “Go on.”And for a while, that is enough.I have been thinking about what happens afterwards.When the dream stops being a dream.Because it is easy to encourage someone when they are still sitting beside you saying,“One day I'd like to…”You can smile.You can say, “You should.”You can tell them how brilliant they are.Nothing has happened yet.Then one day something does.She gets the job.She starts the business.She finishes the book.She makes the money.People begin to notice her.She changes her clothes.Changes her voice.Changes her mind.She stops asking whether she is allowed.She starts taking up the space she used to leave empty.And suddenly the room feels different.I have noticed this.Not with everyone.There are women in my life who have stayed.Women who have clapped without looking around first.Women who have recommended me in rooms I wasn't in.Women who have remembered what I said I wanted before I had done anything about it.I treasure those women.But there have been other moments.A conversation that used to happen every week becomes once a month.Then occasionally.Messages become shorter.The enthusiasm changes.You mention something you are doing and there is a little silence before the subject moves elsewhere.Nothing dramatic.Nobody says:“I don't want you to succeed.”People rarely announce themselves so clearly.You simply begin to notice the empty chair.And there is a temptation to explain it.She's jealous.They don't like women who change.People don't want you to do better than them.Perhaps.Perhaps not.I don't know what is happening inside another person's head.I only know what happens in the room.And sometimes that is enough.There is another kind of table, too.The one where everyone comes because you are useful.You listen.You organise.You remember.You know what to say.You know who to call.You make things happen.You are the strong one.The capable one.The one who always has time.People can love this version of you very easily.She is convenient.Then one day she says,“I need you.”Or:“I can't do that this time.”Or:“I've got something of my own to deal with.”And suddenly the chair seems to have moved.I have wondered about that.The difference between being loved and being useful.The two can look very similar from the kitchen table.Someone calls.You answer.Someone needs something.You help.Someone is struggling.You stay late.It can feel like intimacy.Sometimes it is.But sometimes you are not being held.You are being relied upon.There is a difference.I think we learn it when we stop giving.That is when the room tells you something.I have also had to look at myself.Because it is easy to talk about other people's discomfort with success while ignoring our own.Can I watch another woman get the thing I wanted and remain at the table?Can I hear her talk about her success without immediately measuring my life against hers?Can I say:I'm happy for you.And mean it.Can I recommend her?Can I say her name when she isn't there?Can I open a door?Can I clap without wondering who is watching?I want to be that woman.Not because I have mastered jealousy.I haven't.Not because comparison has disappeared.It hasn't.But because I don't want another woman's becoming to become a threat to my own.Her chair isn't mine.Her money isn't mine.Her beauty isn't an accusation.Her opportunity isn't evidence that I have been rejected.There is room.And if there isn't, perhaps we have been sitting at the wrong table.Pull up another chair.Or make another table.I am beginning to think this is what growth does.It changes the furniture.You become different, and suddenly the old arrangement doesn't quite work.The person who was always available becomes busy.The person who never asked for anything begins asking.The person who listened to everyone begins speaking.The person who used to ...

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